


Past & Future

by redprincessofdawn



Series: Hakyona Week 2018 [2]
Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, the first story is the angst the second is the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redprincessofdawn/pseuds/redprincessofdawn
Summary: *Originally written for Hakyona Week 2018*~PAST: "He’d passed by the jewellery stall what felt like hundreds of times in the past few weeks, pausing briefly, but never going in... He wasn’t in there because it was the week before Yona’s birthday. He definitely wasn’t looking for a gift for her."~FUTURE: "Yona looks back to her reflection, back to the flowers that perched so perfectly in her hair. Had the gift perhaps once been meant for her? A birthday gift Hak had never given her?"





	1. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’d passed by the jewellery stall what felt like hundreds of times in the past few weeks, pausing briefly, but never going in... He wasn’t in there because it was the week before Yona’s birthday. He definitely wasn’t looking for a gift for her."

He’d passed by the jewellery stall what felt like hundreds of times in the past few weeks, pausing briefly, but never going in. Today, he’d wandered in only because he had convinced himself he was looking for something for Ayame or any of the other girls back home. They would be interested in Sky Tribe jewellery, wouldn’t they? He would send them with his weekly letter home. He wasn’t in there because it was the week before Yona’s birthday. He definitely wasn’t looking for a gift for her.

He hovers over the velvet counters, eyeing the jewel-encrusted bobbles.  _Would she—no,_ they  _like earrings? A brooch?_ Each piece of jewellery shimmered in the midday sunlight, and he found much of it too gaudy. Some of it was hard to look at. If it wasn’t too gaudy, then it was too reserved and would be easily lost in a sea of red curls.  _Not that he was looking for something that went with red._

“Why, if it isn’t Kouka’s Thunder Beast!” Says a voice from the back of the stall.

Hak whirls around to see an older woman with greying hair pinned back neatly with an ornate wooden comb, as she carried a small wooden parcel to the only other patron in the store. The other patron, a young man in modest robes, glances at him only briefly before quickly handing the woman a pouch of rin and leaving. The woman approaches, hands on her hips.

“Can I help you with anything?” A thin smile meets her lips. “Perhaps something for a special lady?”

“She’s not special,” He corrects on instinct.

The woman chuckles, “Don’t say that to her face, my Lord, I can’t imagine she’ll take kindly to it; whoever she is.”

 _No, she wouldn’t. She’d smack him._ “I’m just looking.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” The woman sweeps a hand over the displays. “What does she like? Any preferred jewel or cut?”

He blinks. He could  _maybe_ name a couple of stones if he wracked his brain, but cut? He had no idea what that meant when it came to jewellery. At his long silence, the woman gives a sigh.

“… I suppose that’s a no, then. Hm,” She hums, tapping her chin. “What colour is her hair?”

 _Red._ “…Blonde.”

The woman starts wandering up and down her displays, finger tracing along each piece.

“But she likes pink. And flowers.” He can’t help but add. Ayame hasn’t worn pink in her life; she thought it was ugly and expensive.

The woman pauses a moment at the comment, and changes the course of her search.  “Does she wear necklaces?”

Ayame does. “No.” He answers, and then clenches his teeth together to halt himself from saying anything further. His narrative was coming apart at the seams.

The woman gathers several pieces into a velvet cloth as she flits about the store. Then, once the cloth was sufficiently filled with glittering jewellery, she brings it back and unfurls its silken edges. Upon the velvet sat two pairs of silver-beaded tassel earrings, a silver and pink flowered hairpin, a sliver and ruby broach, and an ornate wooden comb adorned with pink fabric orchids.

He runs a finger over the comb, picturing it nestled in red curls. It would be… pretty, wouldn’t it? He tries to remember if he’d seen her wear anything like it before. Would it just be another piece in her vast collection of hair accessories? Would she wear it once and then never again, along with many of the others sitting near untouched on her vanity? Maybe he’d be satisfied with that one time. Maybe he should stop lying to himself and just admit it wasn’t for Ayame at all.

“I’ll take the comb.” He nods toward it, and then clears his throat, as if it would chase away the colour gathering in his face.

“Excellent!” The woman’s eyes are alight as she takes the comb and sweeps herself into the back room of the shop to pack it.

As he waits for her to return, he lets his mind wander.

Maybe she’d wear it the day after her birthday, if she liked it enough. He won’t tease her when she wears it, or when he gives it to her. She might not wear it out of spite if he does, and he really wants to see her in it, even if it was just once—the smitten fool he was.

The door jingles, but he pays it no mind until a familiar voice calls to him; “Hak!”

Hak gives a sharp start, turning to find Suwon at the shop doors, flocked by a couple of servants. He glides into the shop, smiling that soft way he always did.

“You’re in Kuuto already?” Hak asks as his old friend joins his side.

“I’m early,” Suwon admits sheepishly. “Don’t tell Yona I’m here yet; I still have some errands to run.”

Hak gives a nod. “She’ll be bouncing off the walls until you get to the palace if I do,” He elbows his friend lightly. “What do you need in here?”

“I’m picking out a gift for Yona.” Suwon says it casually, but Hak already feels unease gathering in his stomach.

He pushes the feeling away, clearing his throat. “Yeah? What is it?”

Suwon laughs lightly, strolling past to look at the displays. “I’ll tell you when I find something.”

He stops in front of one fairly quickly and leans forward, plucking something from the velvet. His back is turned, so Hak can’t see what he’s inspecting, but he holds his breath all the same. After a while, Suwon straightens and returns to his side, apparently having made his decision.

He holds up a delicate pink and golden hairpin, and that unease turns to stone and sinks to the floor along with Hak’s heart. It was perfect for Yona, of course. The gold would compliment her red hair and it was that brilliant shade of fuchsia she preferred over all else. But it wasn’t as if it mattered how perfect the gift was—if she’d gotten it from Suwon, she’d love it all the same. No, the worst part was that it was a hairpin. If it were pair of earrings or a brooch, he could have been relieved. His gift would still be overshadowed, that much he always expected, but at least she would still  _wear_  the thing if Suwon had gotten her something else.

 _She’ll never take that pin off._ An ugly voice sneers in his head.

“Do you think she would like it?” Suwon asks, turning the ornament around in his hands.

 _No_ sits on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it. “Probably. I’m not sure.”

He briefly wonders if he could just leave before the woman comes back. He could go elsewhere and get Yona something different, or even nothing at all. It would be better that way.

The thought comes too late, as the woman pushes through the store backroom door, carrying his nicely wrapped present.  _Damn._

“I apologize for the wait, My Lord,” She says, adjusting the bow that held the package shut. “I ran out of rib—.”

Her eyes widen when she realizes who has joined him in the shop, and she falls to a bow.

“Your Highness,” She stammers. “How can I assist you today?”

Suwon waves a hand dismissively. “I’m in no hurry. Please, finish serving Lord Hak first.”

The woman scampers back to her feet. “To think,” She murmurs to herself, shaking her head with bewilderment. “The Prince of Kouka and the Wind General… in  _my shop._ ”

The temptation to tell the woman not to worry about his order was strong, but he couldn’t be sure Suwon wouldn’t notice if he did, so he kept his mouth shut. Hak was torn between thinking his friend was either denser than the average person, or more perceptive than anyone he’s known. It seemed to change on a case-to-case basis, and Hak had long lost the desire to figure out the pattern.

The woman hands him the parcel; she’d packaged it prettily in a pink velvety wrapping and a ribbon to match. “That will be two-thousand—.”

Hak hands her his entire pouch of rin without counting, knowing it held more than the comb’s price. “Keep the rest, thank you.”

He turns on his heel, nodding to Suwon as he passes. He shoves through the doors of the shop, the little wooden box that held the comb creaking in the white-knuckled tightness of his grip.

_A waste of time, she won’t wear it._

His shoulders droop as he weaves between the Kuuto crowds toward Castle Hiryuu. This whole thing was stupid; why did he think Yona would care if  _he_  got her anything? She’ll probably barely notice either way. He’ll get a polite thank you at best, and his gift will sit in its box and collect dust along with every other one sent to her by hopeless suitors for the past 3 years. He was just another one—another guy she wouldn’t ever notice. He shouldn’t have let his proximity to her go to his head. He shouldn’t have even bothered.

Ayame was getting the comb after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second one is fluffy, I promise.


	2. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yona looks back to her reflection, back to the flowers that perched so perfectly in her hair. Had the gift perhaps once been meant for her? A birthday gift Hak had never given her?"

“You really don’t need to use your nice makeup on me,” Yona says as Ayame turns away from her to reapply her makeup brush. “I haven’t worn any makeup in a while, I really don’t mind not wearing any tonight.”

Ayame bats the worry away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. “Lord Mundok paid for it, and you’re as much his grandchild as I am.” She leans downward to apply something to Yona’s lips.  

They had stopped in Fuuga because Yun pointed out that he was out of nearly all of his medical supplies. Or rather, he’d grumbled about certain “reckless beasts” using up the last of his bandage rolls. Hak had wanted to stop only briefly to grab the supplies and go, but Jaeha had been the one to point out that he really wouldn’t mind sleeping in a  _real_ bed for a night. Kija had been in tears of joy at the prospect, so for all his hesitance, Hak relented and led everyone to Mundok’s Villa.

They’d been lucky enough to drop by during the Wind Tribe’s annual  _Kaze no Saiten_ , which as Hak was quick to point out, was a pretty made-up festival the Tribe had created as an excuse to party. Mundok and Tae-yeon had quickly dragged him off to catch up, while the dragons and Yun had been located to one of the biggest guest rooms in the Villa. Many of the girls had dragged Yona off to the room she’d stayed in last time she was in Fuuga, insisting she attend the night’s celebrations.  She hadn’t really resisted much, since a part of her missed dressing up from time to time. Admittedly though, she felt a little awkward around Ayame—Hak’s once-fiancée who Yona had felt some envy toward when she first heard of the ill-fated union.

The awkwardness didn’t seem to bother Ayame, though. Perhaps she didn’t notice, but occasionally Yona could see the girl studying her from the corner of her eye. Yona suspected she knew something, or at least  _thought_ something of her. Either way, Ayame seemed content to keep it to herself and had been busily constructing Yona’s makeup for the evening.

“What do you think of this one, Yona-hime?” Says another Wind Tribe girl, whom Yona had learned was named Mao.

Mao was holding up one of her gowns—pink and floral-print with a high-waisted cream sash, presenting it as Yona’s maids used to when they dressed her each morning. Mao was smaller and closer to Yona’s height than Ayame was, so she had been the one offering her clothes for the night’s festivities.

“It’s lovely,” Yona says, shifting in her stool. “I hope it isn’t too expensive. I wouldn’t want to ruin your clothes.”

Mao shakes her head, the beaded strands of her fringe bobbing. “It’s fine, pink doesn’t really suit me anyhow. You could keep it if you like!”

“No, no! That’s fine, I’ll just use it for tonight, thank you.” Yona says, embarrassed. Was the entire Wind Tribe so aggressively kind like this?

Ayame leans back over to finish applying the colour to Yona’s lips, and some blush to her cheeks. Once satisfied, she steps back and appraises her work with a nod. Yona slips off the stool and pads over to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite to her. It had been a while since she’d seen herself in makeup; she wondered what Hak would think. Would he notice?

_Probably. Hak notices everything._

“Thank you,” She says, glancing back at the other girls, and they both smile in response.

“Anyways,” Mao drapes the dress onto Yona’s futon. “We better start getting dressed ourselves.”

Mao gives a little wave, before slipping out of the room. Ayame lingers a moment by the door, biting her lower lip.

“I have one more thing for you, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?” She says, almost tentatively.

Yona blinks. “I… sure, I don’t mind waiting.”

Without another word, Ayame steps out of the room and slides the door closed behind her. When she’s gone, Yona takes the opportunity to put on Mao’s gown. It’s silken and smooth against her skin, a nostalgic sensation she hasn’t felt in what seemed like years. Her regular clothes had long since worn down with wash and wear; even she had to admit they’d seen better days.

She wanders to the mirror again, pulling back the wild strands of her hair. It had grown out to graze her back, now finally long enough to put up if she wanted. After a few minutes of struggling with it, Yona drops her hair with a sigh. She’d grown up having someone else do her hair every day; she didn’t know how to do it on her own. Maybe she should ask Yun to teach her.

There’s a knock at the door, and Yona gives a start.

“Come in,” She calls, smoothing her hair down.

Ayame slips into the room, fully dressed in a green kimono and her longish blonde hair pinned back with an ornate silver comb. She slides the door shut behind her carefully, then makes her way to the stool Yona had gotten her makeup done in.

“Come sit, I’ll do your hair.” She says, patting the wooden seat.

Yona obeys, plopping down on the seat.

Ayame responds by combing through Yona’s hair gently, sliding something into her curls, just above her left ear. “I figured we just go really simple, since your hair is so pretty all by itself.”

Yona stands, rushing up to check herself in the mirror again. Three small, perfect orchids sit nestled in her hair, as though they had been somehow woven into the strands themselves. She reaches up to touch them, expecting the smooth, fragile feel of actual flower petals, but instead the orchids were a soft fabric. She tilts her head, marvelling at the lifelike flowers—they looked as if Ayame had simply plucked them off of a garden on her way to the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Yona says softly, and Ayame beams. “But isn’t this expensive? It could fall out of my hair. These flowers—”

Ayame’s smile quickly melts into a frown. “Well, actually, Lord Hak bought it so I’m not sure.”

Yona’s hand freezes over the flowers. “A birthday gift?” Yona asks, ignoring the word  _fiancée_ whipping through her mind at a mile a minute.

_No, he liked me. He said so._

“No,” Ayame taps her chin. “The gift was pretty out of nowhere, actually. He just sent it to me for no particular reason, a couple of days before you showed up here the first time.”

Yona stares at herself in the mirror, and then sighs. “Still, it was a gift for you. He probably doesn’t want me or anyone else to wear it.”

“Well, actually I have a theory about that.” Ayame says with a pensive little smile. “I don’t think it was for me at all.”

Yona stares questioningly, and Ayame continues without missing a beat.

“I don’t like pink, and Hak knows that.” She says, gesturing to the comb in Yona’s hair. “And see, I’ve long suspected Lord Hak had someone back in Kuuto he loved and after getting this gift… well it confirmed, at least to me, that he must, and that perhaps something went wrong with her.”

Yona looks back to her reflection, back to the flowers that perched so perfectly in her hair. Had the gift perhaps once been meant for her? A birthday gift Hak had never given her?

She’d never questioned him too much about his feelings for her; in all honesty, she was too flustered. All she really knew was that he’d felt that way longer than she could imagine. She wonders if he’d been too nervous to give it to her. What a novel idea  _that_ would be—Hak nervous about  _her_ , of all people.  In many ways, she couldn’t wrap her head around it; Hak was ever brave, ever composed. Was he shaken enough by her that he didn’t give her the gift? Did he decide it was inappropriate for their relationship?

The thought made her sad. She never had shown Hak how grateful she was for his friendship back then. She’d taken his presence and his kindness for granted. Perhaps that had led him to believe she wouldn’t want his gift, or worse, that she wouldn’t care.

Teeth clenched, Yona turns back to Ayame. “I… thank you for this. I will wear it after all.”

Ayame flashes a smile. “Well, good.” She says. “It suits you as though it was made for you.”

Yona pauses for a moment.  _What does that mean?_ But before she could voice the question, Ayame had already turned on her heel and left the room without another word.

* * *

Yona finds her companions in Fuuga square easily; they stick out sorely from the forming crowds with their multi-coloured hairs. They too, seemed to have been treated by the citizens of the Wind Tribe, seeing as they all now wore several expensive robes Yona had never seen before.

“Don’t you look beautiful, Yona-chan?” Jae-ha tells her as she approaches.

“Thank you,” Yona replies with a smile, and Shinah steps toward her to place Ao atop her head.

“This is so elaborate,” Yun frowns, gazing down the main streets of Fuuga, where the main floor of the party was slowly starting to fill with people. “I can’t remember a time where I’ve seen such a big celebration.”

He was right; the streets were lined with lanterns and paper streamers, the cobblestone dotted with flower petals. The air was smoky with the scent of festival foods and faint music played at the far-end of the city square. Games were set up in stalls along the streets, lined by laughing festivalgoers dressed as fancily as they all were.

“Where’s Hak?” Yona says, squinting through the crowds to look for familiar dark hair.

“You miss him already?” Jae-ha teases, prompting exactly the blush she knew he was trying to provoke.

“We haven’t seen him,” Kija answers instead, elbowing the green dragon sharply. “Perhaps he’s with Lord Mundeok?”

Yona spies between the crowds, watching for that familiar mop of dark hair. Finally, she spots him weaving through the crowd, grinning as his little brother tugged him along at the wrist. Tae-yeon, for his part, seems to notice the Happy Hungry Bunch and makes direct and resolute beeline for them.

“Yona-hime!” The young boy calls, smiling brightly.

“… The smallest blond Hak.” Murmurs Shin-ah, as the Son brothers approach.

“Hi Tae-yeon,” Yona bends to meet the younger brother’s eye, and Ao scampers off of her head and back into Shinah’s hands. “It’s good to see you out and about tonight.”

Tae-yeon cups his mouth and leans toward her. “I brought your husband.”

Immediately, Yona feels dangerous warmth spreading across her face and Jae-ha lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously close to laughter. Hak places a hand to Tae-yeon’s head, ruffling his golden hair.

“Let’s not get carried away, we’re not to  _that_ point.” Hak says.

Yona dares to let her gaze jump to Hak, finding that he’s got a hand pressed over his lips and his head tilted away to hide the slight redness colouring his face.  _So cute._

“Well!” Jae-ha says, throwing an arm over Kija’s shoulders. “I think there were a couple of Wind Tribe girls looking for a dance over there, Kija-kun.”

Kija doesn’t seem to agree, but he also doesn’t argue when Jae-ha drags him away to melt into the quickly growing crowd. Zeno grabs Shin-ah by the arm and also pulls him into the crowd, Yun following closely behind and urging him to be careful not to bump into anyone. Tae-yeon clasps Yona’s hands in his for a moment, squeezing lightly, then runs off in search of his grandfather.

Yona straightens back to her full height, her hands fiddling with the sleeves of her kimono.

“Hime-san… uh,  _Yona._ ” Hak corrects himself. “Would you like to dance?”

Predictably, her cheeks warm at the sound of her name from his lips. It was a big adjustment for both of them to make the change to Yona’s name, but she felt it was important. Hak is her lover now, and they should be equals in every way. But that didn’t stop Hak from slipping up, nor did it automatically make Yona accustomed to hearing it from him.

Yona gives a small nod, and allows Hak to pull her onto the edge of the dance floor. He takes her hip in one hand, her hand in the other. He is shockingly good at following the steps, his movements graceful as they are in battle. Although Yona supposed that she shouldn’t be shocked; Hak was a prodigy at everything, why not dancing as well?

“You’re all dressed up,” Hak comments as they dance.

“Mao let me borrow the kimono,” Yona says, her eyes sliding downward to her dress. “Ayame did my makeup.”

“You look pretty.” Hak says it so simply, like he does anything.

“Thank you,” Yona smiles. “I… so do you.”

Hak cocks his head, a brow raised. “I look pretty? Thank you.”

Yona stammers, realizing what she’d just said. “Wait, no I didn’t mean, um—!” She trails off, redder than her hair.

Hak laughs. “It’s alright, I understand.”

His assurance does little to alleviate Yona’s embarrassment. She tilts her head away from him, the rush of heat to her face still intense. At the movement, Yona hears a sudden, quiet exhale from Hak and their dancing comes to a halt. He lifts his hand from her hip to tilt a finger under her chin, his eyes wide, as though he was only now seeing her.

“Hak?” She says, blinking up at him in confusion.

He swallows. His hand slides up her jaw to rest in her hair, his fingers tracing a path of heat that made her heart thump.  

“Yona, this is…?” He exhales, and Yona remembers the comb in her hair.

“I barrowed it from Ayame,” She says, her conviction in wearing the comb suddenly withered. “I apologize if it’s an important gift you bought her. I can take it off, if you’d—.”

“No!” Hak says it quickly, as though he thought she’d take it off this very moment if he didn’t get the word out fast enough. “No, no. You look beautiful wearing it.”

She meets his gaze, and he smiles warmly.  _Hiryuu…_  she loves that smile. She loves it more than anything. The hand in her hair slides back to her face, his thumb gently tracing her jawline.

“I uh,” He frowns slightly. “I’ve wanted to see you wear it for a long time now.”

The words were an unspoken admittance that the comb  _had_ been for her. Just as she’d suspected; it was the birthday gift he’d never given her. Strangely, Yona felt the prickle of tears sting the back of her eyes at the confirmation.

“I’ll wear it everyday.” She says, reaching up to touch the flower comb in her hair.

Hak laughs softly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. He tilts her chin up to him, his thumb gently brushing her lower lip. Yona blushes harshly at the gesture, her sadness forgotten.

“May I kiss you?” He murmurs.

“Yes.” Yona breathes as he leans close.

Hak smiles, and then presses his lips to hers. It’s soft and chaste, sweet and brief. They were in public after all, but Yona swears the light touch of his lips steals the breath from her lungs. He just never fails to make her lightheaded. No matter how many times he’s kissed her, she can’t ever get used to it.

Hak pulls away slightly, their noses touching. “I love you.”

Yona smiles, cupping his cheek. “I love you too.”

This time, she is the one to close the distance between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe slow-dancing is anachronistic for pseudo-ancient-Asia but I love slow dancing ok.


End file.
